Chapter 2
DOMINIC
Izzy Jenkins walks into the office, balancing two coffee mugs. She’s an attractive woman, no doubt about that. Short with curves that show through the high-vis and the chunky jeans and boots she’s wearing. Her eyes are bright, somewhat withdrawn, but intelligent.
She places the coffee in front of me. I smell her perfume, then push that thought away. I am not the sort of man who notices my employee’s perfume.
“Thank you,” I say.
She steps back, hands clasped in front of her, as though she’s a servant waiting for instructions. It leaves a foul taste in my mouth.
“Is there anything else, sir?” she asks expectantly.
I wave a hand at Ethan and Cindy. “Could you two give us a moment? I’d like to speak to the new hire.”
They leave immediately. Cindy gives me a look as she leaves, one I’m familiar with. I’ve never once returned the look or given her any indication I want this sort of attention. I don’t date employees. Never have. Never will?
That’s not a question. It’s a goddamn reality.
“Please, sit,” I say when we’re alone.
She gestures to the hard hat on her head. “May I?”
“Sure, you don’t have to wear them inside.”
She sits opposite me and sets her hat on the edge of my desk. Her hair spills out, wild, unruly, and beautiful. I swallow the thought, bury it deep.
“Is this your first day?” I ask.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m not big into corporate culture,” I tell her. “If you want to call me sir or mister, go ahead. But Dom’s just fine too.”
And yet, bossing her around, not in a work context…
She’s a young woman trying to make her way in the world, for fuck’s sake.
I take a sip of coffee. “You get an A-plus here.”
She smiles, averting her pretty eyes.
“So, why did you leave your last job?” I ask.
Her eyebrows shoot up. She looks at me as though she’s afraid to answer.
“Hey, relax,” I tell her. “This isn’t a second interview. My company has grown. A lot. But when I started this business, I made a promise to get to know my employees. I’ve never wanted to be one of those bosses who frightens his workers… except when I need to.”
She stares at me with wide, scared eyes.
“T-that was a joke,” I say quickly, putting my hand on the table… then quickly removing it.
What am I thinking? Was I going to push my hand toward hers, touch her, which I’ve got no damn right to do? I need to keep my head. I don’t know what’s come over me except she’s gorgeous and shy, and maybe I’ve been working too much.
But hell, I’ve met pretty women before and never had to force myself to focus this hard before.
“Oh,” she murmurs.
“I’m not very funny, I know,” I chuckle sheepishly.
“No, that was, uh, funny.”
Tell that to your face.
“So, why Vale?”
She chews her lip hard. Am I seriously so intimidating? No matter how hard I try not to be this off-putting, I always notice people shrinking away from me. As if my size and the general aura that a therapist would have a field day with… were something I could help.
“Your low-income housing projects are admirable,” she says after a pause. “Other people in your position would invest in glitzy offices, or use their reputation to get bigger projects. But you seem like you care, sir.”
When she says sir, a knot tightens in my gut. But there’s something else, too. Warmth spreads through my body, uncoiling some of the tension in me. I bury the sensation as soon as it manifests.
“Thank you,” I tell her. “And remember, you don’t have to call me sir.”
“Old habits die hard,” she murmurs.
“Your last boss was a hard ass?” I ask.
She winces slightly. I wonder if there’s some trauma there? Did he hurt her?
“You could say that,” she says, voice quiet.
“You were on the West Coast?” I ask. “If I remember correctly.”
She chews her lip. Fuck. She looks good when she does that. But I’m not like them. The wolf whistlers, the ogling ogres, the perverts. I’m different. Right?
“Yes,” she says. “My last boss… he insisted everybody call him sir. I think he saw his employees more as chess pieces than as people. Or maybe cogs is a better word.”
“It sounds like corporate doublespeak bullshit,” I say wryly. “But you’re not just a cog here. I won’t say you’re part of the work family, because I think that’s bull too, Izzy. I think people use that as a method of control. Family connections, even when they’re not family.”
A dark look passes across her face. “Family can be controlling too.”
I want to pry, to ask more. Who is she talking about? But the fact I’m even experiencing these impulses is a sign of danger. I’m friendly to my employees, sure, but never overfamiliar.
“I’m sure,” I murmur.
I almost don’t want to do the next bit. She seems like a nice woman. Kind-hearted and keen to get on with her work. But perhaps my past has made me distrustful.
My father's voice comes to me, shrunken to a tiny thing on his deathbed. “Don’t trust anyone. Ever. Unless you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you can rely on them, assume they’ll betray you.”
“I’ve got a job for you,” I tell her, taking the memory drive from my top desk drawer. “I need you to run this back to the office. It’s highly confidential, so please don’t share it with anybody else.”
“Of course not,” she says, offended. She holds her hand out. For a moment, I almost take it in mine.
“Thank you,” I say, placing the stick in her hand. Our skin touches briefly, a quick moment of contact that sends heat up my arm.
She snatches her hand away as though I’ve burned her. “Is there anything else, sir?”
“Take my cell in case you run into any issues. I need this drive delivered to my office. If security or anyone gives you any problems, call me.”
I scrawl my cell number on a piece of paper and slide it across the desk.
“Okay, thank you.”
She takes it, turning away. Immediately, my animal instincts draw me to her wide hips and the denim that desperately clings to her rear end. I stand and pick her hard hat up from the desk.
“Wait.”
She turns, and again she looks scared. It’s starting to annoy me. Am I really so damn scary?
I approach her. For some reason, instead of just handing her the hard hat, I gently lower it onto her head. She lets out a soft, breathy noise that goes right to my center.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
My voice is husky when I respond. “Don’t mention it.”
She offers a small smile, then leaves. I return to my desk and drop into my chair, thinking about what she said.
Family can be controlling too. I’m sure she’s right, but the son of a bitch who betrayed my old man wasn’t family.
He called himself Uncle Seb because he was so close to us.
Before he ruined it all. But he wasn’t blood.
Ethan and Cindy return. Cindy goes to her desk and starts tapping away. Ethan sits opposite. “Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “She seems like a good person.”
“Did you give her the memory drive?” he asks.
I grunt, nod. Ethan knows better than to go into detail in front of Cindy.
But he knows my plan, the one I’ve always used, the one that worked three years ago when someone tried to steal from my company by selling trade secrets.
Whenever a new employee starts, I give them a memory drive filled with completely fake information.
If that information surfaces anywhere, I know they betrayed me.
Some men would call it paranoid, but not me, not after what Sebastian Goodfellow did to my family.
That name… what a joke. There hasn’t been a worse fellow that I’ve ever met.
This piece of shit made friends with my socially awkward father, bedazzled my mother, got his hooks in, then bled them dry for every last penny they had.
After handling stuff with Ethan, I lie and say I need to head into the city. When he asks if I want company, I don’t respond. I think I slam the door when I leave, but hell, I don’t mean to. It’s just all these chaotic thoughts bouncing around my head, all the damn time, without ever stopping.
As I drive to the suburbs, I make calls, double-checking that all my foremen are on top of their workload. That’s something I pride myself on. I expect my men—my employees, not just men—to work hard, but I like it when they can be honest if they’re overwhelmed.
I call Jennifer when I’m at the end of the street. She answers quickly, like she always does. “Dominic?”
“I’m at the usual place,” I tell her.
“We were going to walk the dog anyway.”
“Thank you.”
I park and walk onto the nearby field. Jennifer’s husband doesn’t like me coming around. I can’t blame him. Jennifer kept her word and never shared the truth about where Liam came from.
“He’ll never stop,” My father told me toward the end. “Sebastian will try to end you, my son. And anyone you care about.”
It’s been half a decade since my father’s death, and yet, that message has always stuck with me. I’ve tried to find Sebastian Goodfellow countless times, and I’ve always failed.
“Dom!” Liam runs over when he sees me, arms outstretched.
I scoop the little boy into my arms, grinning and kissing him on the head. Jennifer stands off to the side, holding her grumbling Chihuahua.
“How’s it going, champ?” I ask.
“Really good. I did a story at school, and they said it was excellent. Didn’t they, Mommy? And Daddy said it was better than excellent.”
Jennifer winces at me when he calls her husband Daddy. I put Liam down and ruffle his hair. When he smiles up at me, I can’t help but think he has my dark, piercing eyes.